


Darkly Dreaming Dexter

by orphan_account



Series: Town of Salem's Very Own Cur [1]
Category: Town of Salem (Video Game)
Genre: BG's name is Harold, Gen, Help, I am not a good writer, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Manipulation, Non-Graphic Violence, SK's name is Dexter, Town of Salem, and he never will, because he's sick, dexter is not okay, dexter thinks hes an artist, horribly written and edited, i hope my tos discord friends dont see this, implied arsosk, implied necrophilia but calm down, oh no sir, poster is fucked up but thats ok, short because im not descriptive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 12:28:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14425419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He killed the mayor yesterday, and he found it awfully easy.





	Darkly Dreaming Dexter

_Dexter is a good person because of Salem._

  Salem has been a great town with productive and intelligent citizens, he lied. Not a mistake on man's part and infested with fools, oh no. Dexter loved Salem; he breathed Salem. The protruding smell of rot and musk became homely and sweet. He would never abandon his humble town. But he didn't mean that. He could care less if this town burst into flames, nesting a figurative devil. No one needed to know that, however. He was the town's artist, and an artist never discourages his town.

  He killed the mayor yesterday, and he found it awfully easy. Ever since her poor puppy-lover was put down by the mafia, she hiccuped and slurred all throughout the town while sloshing tequila vigorously in her hands. Dexter would spend those days of fake worry escorting the drunken woman clinging to his arm who rambled on about her husband, Harold. "Don't- don't tell a soul," her legs wobbled, but Dexter was hasty to grip her shoulder, "But I am planning a surprise trip for my dearest, Harold. We're going to a southern gala, away from his putrid place. I think he will appreciate the gesture. Will- will he? Dexter?" Without a beat, he smiled warmly and assured her. "Yes, my love. He will be enthralled with this news." Dexter loved when his victims were frail and vulnerable. He was the cat, and they were the mice. It was a game of seizing and scrabbling at first, but Dexter learned to devise his art. No one needed to know. No one will understand him then. They will ask him things like "Why do you do this?" "Do you enjoy it?" "Are you insane?" He, instead, does not answer because Dexter does not understand his motives.

  When he took advantage of the mayor's drunken, pathetic state, he didn't feel a blink of remorse. Blood seeped through the silk of her bed covers, and her nude body shone in window's welcoming moonlight. She shed herself of clothing when he politely guided her to her bedroom; the mayor rested atop her bed and posed in such a... salacious manner. He couldn't help but attack. The way she screamed silly when Dexter pinned her against the wooden bed-frame. Harold must have been one soft fellow, he thought pitifully. Without hesitation, the feverish man brandished a dagger and traced along her neck softly. As much as he hated her, she had impressive physique. Her irises were shrunk in fear, but Dexter didn't let go. She was a work of art, but something was missing. Her green eyes and pale skin needed something else. It was a need; a burning passion to add vibrant colors. He couldn't comprehend it until he realized... it needed crimson. A perfect blend of green, pale peach, white, and crimson. The woman let out a shrill shriek, but it was muffled by the hand of a man who was proud of his creation, who didn't want to show the world his art but nevertheless continued. The desperate being squirmed under his grasp for a good thirty seconds before, finally, it stopped. Dexter sighed in excitement and scrambled off the corpse. Her throat was brutally pierced through, the dagger still sunken in her pale flesh. It didn't come out the way it was supposed to, he mused. He hummed in disappointment but caressed the subject's neck. Her skin was a strange hue of purple and pools of red stained her bosom. Yet, beneath the mistakes, it was his art. Messy yet perfect, Dexter grinned in agreement with his thoughts. Suddenly, orange rays beamed through the window and reflected on the walls; the window was open to reveal great, prosperous Salem. Bright colors continued to dance outside and licked up the blue sky. Orange flickers of light way beyond his ability to create. This was the work of yet another artist. He latched himself to the window and observed the extravagant fire that would devour the Jailor's house nearby. Dexter was humble enough to admit... his work was nothing compared to the inferno outside. Instead of musk and blood, the smell of smoke wafted beneath door to door until it reached him. The smell was intoxicating and new. He was confused by the strong beating of his heart and the sweat pooling from his forehead, but something had changed. Either Satan had finally claimed Salem or the town had a threat greater than before.

The latter excited him excessively, for he was ready for some change in this hell. He would continue days yonder acting normally. He was Dexter, the town's Doctor after all. Nothing strange about that.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't write, how's it going? I'm sorry for what I've done.
> 
>  
> 
> this is heavily influenced by dexter, that one tv show. instead, the sk is just real fucked up. so cool.


End file.
